


Whole

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Oblivious, alice/quentin is brief, its not used between quentin and eliot, margo is a meddler, quentin is so blatantly oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: “I don’t think it’s us,” Alice says, gaze barely glancing away from the books stacked in front of her. Her pencil taps along the edges of her paper, eraser dancing along the outline of one of the spells she’s studying.Quentins brow furrows as he lets his eyes trail from the pencil, up her arm, to land on the  curtain of hair she’s using to hide her face from him. “What isn’t us?” He asks. It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, since Eliot and Margo left the library to go do something less boring. Whatever that means.“Us.” She answers after a moments silence, before looking up and setting the pencil down. “I think Mayakovsky was wrong.”“About … Us? How?”“I don’t think we’re in love.”





	Whole

**Author's Note:**

> In this au, Mike was never controlled by the beast, there is an attack but it's by some unknown stranger who never used Eliot as a way to get into their lives.

“I don’t think it’s us,” Alice says, gaze barely glancing away from the books stacked in front of her. Her pencil taps along the edges of her paper, eraser dancing along the outline of one of the spells she’s studying.

Quentins brow furrows as he lets his eyes trail from the pencil, up her arm, to land on the  curtain of hair she’s using to hide her face from him. “What isn’t us?” He asks. It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, since Eliot and Margo left the library to go do something less _boring_. Whatever that means.

“Us.” She answers after a moments silence, before looking up and setting the pencil down. “I think Mayakovsky was wrong.”

“About … Us? How?”

“I don’t think we’re in love.”

“Whoa,” Quentin sets his own pencil down and closes the book around it. “What are you talking about?”

She swallows, shrugging in that distinct, Alice way, and closes her own book. “I love you,” she says, soft, “But I don’t think it’s how we think it is.”

“I love you, too. I don’t understand what -,”

“Everyone around us has been telling us we’re meant to be. And all these things have kind of just forced us together and reiterated that we’re supposed to be together. And I think,” she bites down on her lip and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “I think we decided to just take it and run with it without even thinking it through.”

Quentin frowns. “We thought through it. After Brakebills south.”

She shakes her head, “We tried. But then you almost got killed, and I didn’t want to lose you. And we thought that meant that we are in love with each other.”

“I - aren’t we?”

She shakes her head again, slower. She reaches across the table and places her hand overtop his on the books. “No, I - I don’t think we are. We want to be. But.” She looks down at her own textbooks. “I think. After last night, it kind of made things clearer.” Her eyes trail back up to his, “Q. I think -, I think you’re in love with -,”

“Alice, I love you. You know that. I -,”

“You love me. And I love you. But we’re not in love with each other, even though we desperately want to be.” She sighs, soft, squeezing his hand. “I know you think we are. But, haven’t you realized? That there’s someone you - you would risk your life for? Someone you’d give anything to protect.”

Quentin shakes his head, frowning as he moves his free hand to put it atop hers, “I thought that was you.”

“You want it to be me.”

“What does that even mean?” He asks, ripping his hands out of hers to run one through his hair. “We’ve - I. I don’t understand where this is coming from. I thought.”  He shakes his head again, slumping up against the chair. “I thought we -,”

“Q,” she murmurs, eyes painfully soft and understanding, “Think about it. I think you’re the only one who doesn’t realize. And maybe that’s my fault,” She shrugs, pulling her hands back into her lap. “Maybe you’re trying so hard to make this real that you’re making yourself not see it. Just open your eyes. I see it - I saw it, last night. Everyone sees it. In both of you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” He exclaims, taking a deep breath. “Just -,” licking his lips, he reaches out and picks at the edges of the paper of his research. “Are you - are you breaking up with me?”

“… Yes, Q. I’m breaking up with you.” Her eyes widen a fraction as he starts gathering all of his stuff and packing up into his backpack. “It’s for the best. I just want you to be happy -,”

“I am - was - _am_ happy!” He exclaims, hunching down over the table, “I thought you were too.”

She nods. “But there’s someone you’ll be happier with.”  

“Enlighten me!”

Sighing, she places her hand over his again, even as he clenches it around the edge of a book. “You know who it is, Q. You have to.”

“For fucks -!” He shakes his head, ripping his hand out from under hers and throwing the books into his messenger bag. “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, and I - I need to leave.” He shakes his head again, tucking his hair behind his ear and tossing the bag over his shoulder as he turns and storms out of the library, confused and a little heart broken.

But not as much as he thought he’d be.

*

When he gets to the cottage, Eliot and Margo are sitting on the couch mocking Todd. Quentin makes a beeline towards them, tosses the messenger bag on the floor in front of the couch, and lies down on their laps, arms and legs extended over the arms of the couch. They look at each other, then down at him.

“Go away Todd.” Margo says airily, as her hand finds itself on Quentins lower back.

“But I -,”

Eliots hand burrows into Quentins hair, massaging gently at his scalp. “Get lost, Todd, before I decide to turn you into a toad.” He glances up, raises an eyebrow, and then Todd is choking out some words and running up the stairs. Eliot smiles softly, before looking down at Quentin with a considerably softer gaze. “Hey, you. This is weird.”

Quentin nods, burying his face in between Eliots thigh and the arm of the couch. “Today is weird.” He mutters, voice muffled.

Margo chuckles, digging her fingers into the soft muscle at the base of his back in a motion that warms Quentin down to his core. “Come on. Tell Mama Margo what’s happened.”

Eliot raises an eyebrow. “Mama Margo?”

She swats at his shoulder with her free hand, “He’s _sad_. I’m helping.”

“Alice broke up with me.”

Eliot hums, scraping his nails at the base of Quentins neck as he makes a face at Margo, not at all surprised. “Did she? And that’s weird?” Margo pinches his shoulder, gives him a soft glare and nods down at Quentin with a shake of her head.

Quentin lifts his head up, turns to face them with a petulant frown. “She said I’m in love with somebody else.”

“Little Alice is in love with someone else? Now that’s a shock.” Margo says.

“What?” Quentin furrows his brow with a shake of his head. “No. She says she thinks I’m in love with somebody else. That we’ve been trying to force ourselves to love each other. That we love each other, but not in a romantic manner because I’m so desperately trying to avoid feelings I have for somebody else.” He huffs, turning over and sitting up so his butt falls in the divot between their laps, legs over Margos lap, and back resting up against Eliots thigh.

Eliots face is remarkably stoic.

Margo’s watching him with narrowed eyes, moving her hands to rest overtop his knees. “Alice broke up with you because she thinks you’re in love with someone else?” Quentin nods, and she glances over at Eliot then back to him. “Did she say who?”

And she sounds remarkably naive, so ridiculously unlike Margo, that Quentin tilts his head. “No,” he murmurs, low, “But she said everyone else knows.”

“Did she?” And her voice is too high.

“You think you know who she thinks I’m in love with!”

She scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Q.”

“You’re acting innocent and too curious.” He accuses, “I know you. Wait,” He pauses, eyes going wide, “She doesn’t think I’m in love with you, does she? Because you’re great Margo, but really - ow!” He frowns, scrambling into Eliots lap as she pinches at his calves. “Fucking - stop! Ow!” Eliot laughs, wrapping one arm around Quentins waist and playfully swatting at Margos hands with the other.

“I do not think you’re in love with me,” Margo says, slow and concise as she lands one more pinch to his inner thigh. “Love you, Q, but no.”

Quentin sighs, resting his head on Eliots chest. “Then who the fuck does she think I’m in love with?”

She stares at him incredulously.

“What?” He frowns, lifting his head to look between her and Eliot. Even Eliot has this small look of surprise behind the smile on his lips. “ _Who is it_?”

“Oh, Q,” Margo murmurs, reaching forward and ruffling his hair. “You poor, oblivious little idiot.” She stands up, holds her hands out for him. “C'mon.”

“What are you up to, Bambi?” Eliot asks, watching her warily.

“Well I’m not going to outright tell the sad sack,” she says, flipping her arms at her side and resting her hands on her hips delicately, as she gives Quentin a soft glare. “But perhaps, I can make him realize it all on his own.”

Eliot shakes his head, tightens his grip around Quentins waist. “He’s too oblivious. You’ll just scare the poor boy.”

“Scare him?” She asks, raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk, “Or scare someone else?”

“Bambi,” he warns.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Q. You can either come with me and figure out who you actually love because we all know it wasn’t Alice - that was all Mayakovsky and your creepy nightmares that made that happen. Or, you can stay there and sulk in Eliots lap. Your choice.”

“I -,” he looks at Eliot.

“Don’t look at me, this is all on you.” He shrugs, “but if you want to sulk in my lap, I don’t have any important plans for at least an hour, and I’d be at least a little willing to accommodate that time for you and your sad sack moping.”

Quentin sighs, leaning his head back on Eliots chest, oddly comforted by the soft beating of his heart and looks up at Margo through his hair. “She just broke up with me. I kind of want to sulk.”

“Of course you do.” But she grins like she hadn’t expected any other answer and turns to head up the stairs. “When you’re ready to face reality,” she stops at the base of the stairs and smiles at him, all predatory and so Margo, “I’ll be in my room. Knock first, I don’t want you to walk in on something that’ll make you fall in love with me.” She winks and heads up the stairs without another word.

“So.”

Quentin leans back to look up at him. “Yeah?”

Eliot shrugs, “Did she give you any hints?”

Quentin groans, falling forward and burying himself in Eliots chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne and something woodsy that is somehow so Eliot, and so not. “No,” he mutters, reaching up and grabbing small fistfuls of Eliots vest. “She just said everyone knows, and it’s mutual, and yeah.”

“And yeah?” Eliot pulls away a bit, ducking his head to look at him. “I feel Alice might have been a bit more eloquent than that, Q.”

“She said I have to know. That I’m purposefully ignoring it.”

Eliot hums, “Are you?” He asks.

“I don’t think I am.” He sighs, pulling away and looking up at him. Eliot’s watching with guarded eyes, and a soft set to his mouth. “What do you think?”

An eyebrow perks at the question, “Why does it matter what I think? You’re the one secretly fawning over some unknown suitor.”

“Eliot,” he whines, squeezing his fists around the vest. “Help me.”

Eliot unravels his arms from around him, gently placing his hands overtop Quentins, “These aren’t cheap,” he murmurs, gently prying his fingers from the fabric. Neither of them move to separate their hands. “And how am I supposed to help you? I can’t read your mind.”

Quentin nods absently, gaze caught on their hands, wondering how the hell Eliots hands are so much bigger than his, completely swallowing his own whole in their soft warmth. But then, “wait,” he says, eyes going wide as he looks back up at him, “Does she think it’s Penny? Because he _can_ read my mind, and he would be a dick enough to spread that kind of lie.”

“Okay …” Eliot eyes him wearily, squeezing his hands. “Q. She said you love this person and that it’s obvious. Penny may be able to read your mind, but the only thing that’s obvious about you two is your reluctant friendship. And he’s completely besotted on Kady. So, Alice dumping you thinking you love Penny? More than unlikely.”

He sighs, leaning back into Eliots chest. “Then who the fuck does she think I’m in love with?” He sighs, softly, nuzzling his head in the soft fabric of Eliots vest, hands caught between his chest and Eliots stomach, “she said it’s obviously mutual. I just. Don’t know.”

“Maybe you’re not thinking hard enough,” Eliot murmurs, resting his chin on the top of Quentins head.

“I’m thinking pretty damn hard. I think my heads starting to hurt.”

“Are you thinking about your head hurting?” He asks, chuckling, “Because, forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think that could be the reason your head hurts.” Quentin huffs. “Look. All I’m saying is, maybe if you think it through - I mean, really think about it, without focusing on your relationship with Alice - you’ll figure it out without much difficulty.” He squeezes his fingers again, “You’re too smart to be this dumb, Q.”

Quentin pulls away to half heartedly glare at him. “Give me a break. Up until,” He turns to look up at the clock on the ceiling, “not even an hour ago I was, kind of still am, under the impression I’m in love with Alice. I - I’m just really confused.”

Eliot nods, swallowing as he lets go of one Quentin’s hands, to reach up and ruffle his hair. “Maybe you should go up and get some sleep. Wear off the shock. And when you wake up, I’ll be right here with a cocktail special made for you and your miserable little heart.”

“Okay.” Eliot watches him, waiting for him to move, but instead, he curls up tighter against him. “Is it okay if I stay here for a little while longer?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, running his hand through Quentin’s hair, “Just a little while. Cause I’ve got -,”

“Plans, I know.”

*

When Quentin wakes up three hours later, warm and more content than he’s been in weeks, it takes him a moment to register where he is. But there are voices talking all around him, and a hand running through his hair, calm and even strokes. There’s also a hand around his waist, holding him tight. A soft _ba-bump_ echoing in his ears, and a pleasant smell all around him.

He opens his eyes slowly, almost unwilling to let go of the peace, and finds himself looking up at Eliot’s chin, while he talks animatedly with somebody Quentin cant see. But then there’s a response, and it’s definitely Margo and Josh. Part of him wants to close his eyes again, fall back into the peaceful slumber, but his breath hitches as Eliot’s tongue flicks out and licks his lips, above him. It jostles him just enough that Eliot’s gaze flickers from Margo down to him, and a small smile falls on those lips. Even the mocking shine behind his eyes doesn’t break the spell. “Well,” He says, smirking, “Look who’s finally awake.”

“About damn time,” Margo mutters, suddenly appearing in his field of vision, where she leans over him with a knowing smirk. “Sulking turn into napping, Q?”

“Shit,” he mutters, moving to sit up, but Eliots arm is warm and firm around his waist. He looks at him, gut turning around and around at the soft smile directed at him.

Eliot rolls his eyes then, letting him go and helping him sit up. “Welcome to the land of the living.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep, El, I’m so sorry -,”

He waves a hand with another roll of his eyes, “Don’t worry. Bambi supplied me with alcohol, and my plans got cancelled. You’ll live to see another day.”

“Still. I -,”

“Hush,” Margo says, scooting down the couch so Quentin can sit between them. She eyes him for a moment while he gets settled in. Eliots arms moves to rest on the back of the couch. Quentin lets his head lean back just enough to feel the warmth emanating from Eliots left arm. “So,” Margo finally murmurs, turning to face them. “Any ideas on who you’re in love with?”

Quentin frowns. “I was sleeping -,”

“Dreams have been known to send a vision or two.”

Eliots arm rustles Quentins head as he gently shoves Margos shoulder. “Leave the poor thing alone, he’s suffering as it is. A full blown identity crisis.”

Margo scoffs, “wait until he realizes.”

“You don’t think it’ll be that bad, do you?” Eliot asks, soft, looking across Quentin, directly at Margo with a furrowed brow.

Margo eyes Quentin for a moment before shrugging. “Honestly? I’m betting fifty fifty on this one. He’s a flight risk, but once he realizes it, it could be pretty good. Maybe he’ll have to think for a little while, but … Yeah. Even if I were a betting girl, I would not go in on this one.”

“Uh - guys, I’m sitting right here.”

“We know,” they chorus with matching grins.

Quentins about to respond, a small faux glare on his face when Penny appears in front of the couch, and storms across the room to the bar to grab himself a drink. “You know,” Penny growls, pointing at Quentin with the hand holding a bottle of whiskey, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Eliot balks. “Did I say he could touch my whiskey?”

Quentin blinks. “Uhm. What did I do, exactly?”

Penny swallows down his whiskey, eyebrow furrowing before he frowns, and looks at Margo and Eliot. “He seriously still doesn’t know?” They both shake their heads. “For - can I just tell tell him?”

“I’m serious - who said he could touch the whiskey?”

“Yes please.” Quentin nods.

Margo swats Quentins shoulder, “You’ll do no such thing.” She says, pointing a finger at Penny, “Because if you tell him, I _will_ cut your dick off.” She smiles sweetly and turns to Quentin. “You need to figure your shit out on your own. We can’t hold your hand for you while you try and figure out who it is you’re in love with because you’re too oblivious to everything in the world surrounding you.”

“You were offering to tell me earlier!”

“I changed my mind. Circumstances changed.”

“What circumstances?” Her eyes flash over to Eliot for a fraction of a second, and Quentin turns to look at him. “What’s happening here?”

Margo shrugs, “Nothing you need to worry about, little Q. So,” She sighs, relaxing into the couch, “I was thinking we could party the night away. El, what do you think?”

Eliot’s fingers twirl around Quentin’s hair, “Hmm … could be a celebration. And maybe a little potion,” He eyes Quentin, “What do you say we all go on a magic trip? Maybe that’ll help you realize who you love.”

Penny scoffs. “If he can’t see it at this point, not even god himself could break down the door and make him realize.”

Margo turns to look at him, “Who even invited you here?”

Quentin scoots a little closer to Eliot as the two argue. He relaxes against his side, eases out a slow breath. “What’s the magic trip?” He asks, soft, so as not to catch Margo and Penny’s attention. Eliot’s the only one who hasn’t been judgmental about this whole thing, and if Quentin can stick to just talking to him about it, he’ll be more than happy.

Eliot looks down at him, brows furrowing as he focuses in on the strand of Quentin’s hair he has rolling between his fingers. “It’s a potion. Knocks you out for a couple hours, but it helps you realize your inner desires. Let’s you see the world around you without pesky inhibitions.” He smirks, eyes flicking over to Quentins, “I use small doses of it sometimes. Makes sex more interesting. Small doses only, though, because I don’t make it a habit of passing out in the middle of a great fuck. Even bad sex,” He adds as an afterthought, “Is worth staying awake through. Sometimes.”

“So if I take this … Potion, I’ll know who I’m supposedly in love with?”

Eliot shakes his head, frowning. “God, no. It’s not some magic eight ball. If you choose to stay oblivious, you’ll be oblivious to it. It’s kind of like a probability spell, but different. You see all the different possible people you could love, but it’s up to you to realize who it is.”

“That sounds pointless.”

He shrugs, “Maybe. But It can be fun when you’re lonely, or,” he pauses, eyeing him carefully, “Looking for love.”

“I think I’m okay.”

Eliot sighs, nodding, “Then you’re on your own with this whole self discovery quest of yours. Because I’m all out of options.” He unravels his arms from around Quentin and moves to get up.

Quentin frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Q,” he says, slow, “You’ve been asleep on my lap for three hours. I require a. bathroom break.” He tilts his head as he stands up and looks down at him, “Are you asking because you’d like to join?” Quentin shakes his head and Eliot nods to himself. “Didn’t think so.”

Quentin watches him until he disappears up the stairs.

“I fucking swear to god,” Penny grumbles to Margo, “How does he not realize -,”

“Because he’s special. Shut up.” Margos hands come around Quentins waist as she rests her head on his shoulder. “Come on, Q. Let’s get drunk.”

Quentin nods, turning his attention back on her. “Okay.”

*

It takes a week for Quentin to let it go. Part of him starts to think Alice had just been looking for an easy out, because no part of him feels particularly drawn to anyone. At least, not in the way he thought he’d been drawn to her.

He’s not as upset about the break up as he thought he’d be, though. A couple nights of drinking and partying with Eliot and Margo eased what little pain he had about the whole situation. He’s not mad at her, has no real feelings of distaste. He’s not numb, but he doesn’t really feel anything about it. That’s the part of him that thinks she may be right. Because if he were in love with her, it’d suck. He should be consumed by grief, especially with how much his depression already fucks with him.

But when it comes to Alice, he’s fine.

And honestly, despite all the usual inner turmoil, he’s actually at ease, comfortable with his life. He has friends he loves, magic - so what if he doesn’t have anyone he’s in love with? It’s not a big deal.

He’s walking into the cottage, small smile on his face, when Margo yanks him by the arm to the dining room and places her hands on her hips as she narrows her eyes at him.

“What the fuck?” He asks, rubbing at his arm. “What’s your problem?”

She chews on her lip for a moment before sighing. “Eliot met someone today,” she says, careful, eyes widening a fraction as if she’s trying to gauge his reaction.

“Good for him?” It’s not like Eliot doesn’t bring back new kids to see if they’re worthy of being a part of their group whenever they get into Brakebills.

She huffs. “They’re in the living room.” She nods towards the living room. Quentin follows her gaze, sees the familiar back of Eliots head, but it’s leaning on a less familiar block of blonde hair. Quentins face scrunches up as he whips back around to look at Margo. “Yeah,” she says, lifting a hand and waving a finger at his face, “My thoughts exactly. It’s weird. He doesn’t like people.” She sneers, turning to glare back at the blonde hair, “But somehow this guy weasels his way right on in. Which is ridiculous,” she looks back at him, “Eliots not supposed to date people we don’t approve of.”

Quentin blinks, heart stopping for a moment of pure confusion as he turns his eyes back on the duo. “Dating?” He asks, quiet, like he isn’t sure what the word means, or that it’s even a real word at all. “Eliot … doesn’t _date_.”

Margo throws her hands up, “Thank you!” She exclaims, scowl fading just a bit. “That’s exactly what I said?”

“And what’d he say?” He responds absently, watching as Eliots head falls back with a laugh that echoes around the room, vibrant and melodic.

“That he can date who he damn well pleases, obviously.”

“But he met him today.”

She sighs, moving over to stand beside him and rest an elbow on his shoulder, scowling across the hallway at them. “You’re telling me,” she mutters with a shake of her head. “He’s cute, but he’s not cute enough to be one of us.” She turns her head and looks at him, appraising him, as her fingers come up to brush his hair out of his face. “Not like you, you’re just cute enough,” she adds, soft.

“I don’t -,” he pulls away from her. “Eliot doesn’t date. Something’s wrong here.”

“No need to get jealous, Q,” she says, crossing her arms. “Eliot wouldn’t let some cock get in the way of us. He’ll realize we hate him and he’ll be kicked to the curb like yesterday’s garbage.”

Quentins stomach churns as he watches them. Eliot leans over and presses a kiss to the strangers cheek, laughing at something someone else says as the ashes of his cigarette disappear into the air, vanished by some unspoken spell. The smoke drifts around them, completing the stupid romantic image, that could only be improved on if Quentin suddenly loses the ability to see color.

She loops her elbow around his. “Come on. Let’s go play nice,” She side eyes him, “You can play nice, can’t you?”

He ticks his jaw side to side. “Why wouldn’t I be able to play nice?”

She smirks at him with a shake of her head, “Perfect.” And then she’s dragging him through the cottage until they’re standing beside the couch, staring down at Eliot and his new boyfriend.

Who is definitely not attractive enough to be dating Eliot - who deserves the _best_.

And this _joke_ is definitely not the best.

And Eliot is entirely too touchy feely with him. He’s got googly eyes, and won’t stop _touching_ him. Won’t let him out of his fucking sight. His arm is tucked around his back, and stranger danger is sitting there with one leg looped over Eliot’s thigh, with this stupid, dopey grin on his lips like he’s the cock of the walk.  Quentin eyes them warily. Something about short, blonde, and ugly makes his stomach twist and turn uncomfortably. Especially when Eliot looks at him like he’s hung the god damn moon.

He’s known the loser a day, and he’s already completely fucking lost in him. He hadn’t even been like this when he and Quentin met - mostly stoic, slightly flirty. But nowhere near as attached.

It took a while for Eliot to get attached to people - or so Quentin thought.

But then again - maybe this is what love is. Quentin’s breath hitches, he should be happy that Eliot’s in love with someone. Maybe love works differently with actual decent Magicians. Maybe when they’re in love it’s this instant connection that neither of them can ignore, that makes it possible for them to get lost in each other so quickly.

What else could it be?

Margo clears her throat. “Boys,” She says, snapping her fingers when neither of them look at her.

Eliot’s eyes venture up towards them, then, frowning. “Margo? You’re not here to -,”

“No,” She sneers, glaring down at the dingbat next to him, “I’m here to introduce your lover to Quentin.” She turns her attention on Quentin, barely bothering to soften her gaze for him, and motioning to Captain Can’t Possibly Have a Personality - okay, even Quentin realizes that ones stupid - with her free hand and saying, devoid of all pleasant demeanor. “Q, this is Mike. Mike,” She says his name like it physically pains her, “This is Q.”

_Mike_ tilts his head up at Quentin, examines him for a moment before shrugging. “Am I supposed to know him?” Margo’s jaw goes slack, and Quentin’s eyes dart over to Eliot - who isn’t even paying attention, he’s too busy playing with _Mike’s_ fingers in his lap.

Of course that’s when Penny pops into the room, pauses for a moment, eyes going wide. “ _Jesus christ_ , my brain is getting fucking attacked with hate mail. Fuck this.” And popping back out before anyone can even respond.

Quentin looks at Margo, “I -,”

She raises a hand between them, “Don’t bother. C’mon. We’re going somewhere that doesn’t make me want to,” And she raises her voice, leaning over Eliot and _Mike_ , “ _Physically vomit._ ” As she pulls him away, and Eliot shrugs to lean into Mike for a kiss, the last thing Quentin expects is to get pulled through a door leading to a fucking club in downtown London.

*

And not coming back to Brakebills for three days really throws him for a loop, too. But, he’s been drunk, and he’s pretty sure Margo slipped some drugs in a couple of his drinks, so keeping track of time has been a bit far off his mind. What hasn’t been too far off his mind, though, is the incessant thoughts of wondering if Eliot’s broken up with Mike yet. Or if they’ve moved past the stupid honeymoon phase. If Eliot is back home, staring at Mike like he’s everything. Kissing him, holding him like he’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He’d been going in for another vodka to wash away whatever this misguided anger at Mike is, when Margo slapped a hand around his wrist, dragged him through the club, and back onto the Brakebills quad. His whole world goes from purples and greens and blues, neon lights and dancing partiers, to the mystic shining sun that seemed to always light up Brakebills. She holds a mysterious clear liquid up for him, “Drink this. It’ll sober you up.”

He stumbles forwards a step, before she carefully places it in his hand, one of her hands draped around his back in an uneven attempt at holding him up, as she helps him sip the liquid. He makes a face, tries to pulled away, but she shakes her head, forces the rest of it down his throat. He coughs, feeling the effects almost instantly, and wipes at his face. “That - what is that?” He asks, “Other than the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Margo eyes him for a moment, as he reaches down for her purse to shove the bottle into it, “Instant sober up potion I made.”

“And why am I sober?” He asks, frowning as the sun beating down on him suddenly feels less magically and more vomit inducing. He squints down at her as she pulls out another bottle, holding it out for him. “What -,”

“Hangover cure, Q. Drink it unless you want to vomit all over the lawn in front of everyone.” He grabs it out of her hands, swallows it in one quick gulp, pleasantly surprised by the taste of something similar to bubblegum, and sighs with relief as the sharp pain creeping up on his brain disappears completely. He looks at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’m a fucking goddess. Let’s go.”

He follows after her dutifully. “How long were we -,”

“Three days, I think.”

“ _Three days?_ ”

She nods without bothering to turn back and look at him. “Three days of pure animalistic bliss,” She pauses, stopping to finally look at him, “You did get laid, right?” His eyes dart around the quad, and her jaw drops, “You didn’t get _laid_? We didn’t go there for you to pussy foot around a bunch of horny men and women, Q. We went there to let loose!”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“You didn’t -,” She takes a deep breath, leveling herself out, “Fine, whatever. Did you figure out who you’re in love with or something? Brain stuck on them so long that you couldn’t just let the thought of them go long enough to get your cock sucked by some horny drunk brit?”

“What - no! I - uh. I -,”

She makes a face, pursing her lips. “You’re telling me, you were drunk off your ass - drugged beyond comprehension, thanks to a few goodies from the bartenders - and you didn’t once feel like fucking someone? Or getting fucked?” Quentin makes a face and she sighs, clearly done with him, “Q. Everyone knows you’re bi. It’s fucking fine. No one cares.”

“Bi … as in, bisexual? Margo -,”

“Unless this is another thing you haven’t fucking realized.” She eyes him, sighing, “Fuck.” Her head falls back, and she looks up at the sky, arms outstretched beside her, “Must I be the guiding light in everyones life? Why God? Why me?”

“What are you talking about?”

She lets her head fall forward, chin hitting the top of her chest. “Sweetie,” She says, soft and sweet, which is a little terrifying. Her eyes flicker up to him, “Your first guess to who you thought Alice thought you were in love with was a dude. Not the right dude, but a dude. Subconsciously, you have to know you like dick. Or at least the people attached to them.”

He shakes his head, because it isn’t entirely true, he’d thought it was _her_ first, and her eyes slide closed. “I - I’ve never thought about it,” He says after a moment, “I like people. I don’t really think about whether they’re guys or girls or, I don’t know. I just don’t think about it.”

One eye peaks open, “So, objectively, you realize it’s possible for you to be bi.”

“I -,” He shrugs, “I haven’t really given it a label.”

She smiles, “Thank fuck for that.” She reaches out, loops her arm through his, “There is hope after all.”

“Hope? For what?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Trust me, it’s better if I don’t say.”

But then Penny appears in front of them, frantic and angry, and looking a bit queasy. His arms flap around him as he stalks towards them, “Where the fuck have you two been?” He exclaims, “Jesus fucking christ! We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Margo nods. “I figured.”

“You figured?” He narrows his eyes at her, “What the fuck does that mean?”

She shrugs, “We disappeared without any notice. Figured you guys would be looking for us.” She smiles at him, “Though we are both grown adults, perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. So, thanks for the consideration, but no thanks.” She moves to walks past him, but he puts an arm out in front of her, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Move it,” She warns, “Or lose it. And I don’t make idle threats.”

“Look, I’d be more than happy to never speak to you again, but something’s wrong with _your_ best friend.” At that, both Quentin and Margo turn their full attention on him. “And he’s not listening to anyone else. So maybe go talk to him. Because I’m disgusted, everyone at the cottage is freaked out, and honestly -,”

“ _What the fuck are you talking about_?”

He stares at them for a moment, before nodding, grabbing both of their hands and traveling them to the cottage.

And there, in front of them, on the stupid fucking couch, is Eliot and Mike.

“I love you more.”

“No - I love you more.”

Mike reaches forward, poking Eliot in the stomach. “No, I love _you_ more.”

Quentin’s eyes go wide, and he looks up at Penny. “What the -,”

Penny makes a face, like he’s genuinely disgusted by what he’s seeing, “They’ve been like this for two days. Just - disgustingly … mushy with each other.” He shakes his head, turning around so his back is facing the two of them, and looks down at Quentin and Margo. “We didn’t think anything of it at first, because it could have been him trying to get over -,” Margo glares at him with a short shake of her head and he rolls his eyes. “ - something, whatever. But then it just kept getting worse. And now they’re like _that_.”

Quentin looks over Penny’s shoulder, making a face as Mike leans in and nuzzles his nose against Eliot’s. He has a half a mind to punch him. “Maybe,” He clears his throat, gaze moving back over to Penny, “Maybe they’re in love.”

He’s not sure why the thought makes an uncomfortable knot form in his gut.

Penny tilts his head, narrows his eyes at him. “Are - are you reading my mind?” Quentin asks, “Stop it!”

“Why? Afraid of what I might find?”

“You’re the one who complains about my wards! They’re up. Get out!”

“Oh, but you’re so close …” Penny murmurs, looking over at Margo, “I could push him right over the edge, and he -,”

Margo raises a hand. “Stop. You were right. Something is wrong with him.” She runs a hand through her hair, frowning, and reaching up to readjust the strands so there aren’t any out of place. “Either a spell, or a potion or something. Eliot doesn’t fall in love this quickly.”

“I mean -,”

“That’s different, and you know it,” She snaps, looking mildly distressed as her gaze falls back on Eliot and Mike, “So why don’t you be useful for once and do us all a favor, and go get some books on love spells and potions that could explain all … _that_.” She pauses, making a face as Mike calls Eliot something along the line of ’shmookems’, and points a finger at Penny, eyes locked on the Eliot and Mike, “Make that _all_ the books on love spells and potions. Jesus.”

As Penny vanishes, Quentin looks back over at Mike and Eliot. Something angry twists around inside him that he can’t quite explain, and before he knows it, he’s rushing out of the room and into the kitchen to be anywhere other than where they are. He stands over the sink, water running for a few minutes, before he hears the distinct clacking of Margo’s heels on the tile. She stops by the island, and her belt clinks against the marble as she rests her hip against it. “Problem?” She asks.

He turns around and looks at her. Her arms are crossed, an eyebrow perked as she narrows her eyes at him. “I,” he swallows, waving a hand vaguely, “Just think its messed up. That someone, would. Do that to hi - t-to _them_.”

Her head tilts. “Is that really the only problem, Q?” She asks, quiet.

“Yes,” He murmurs, turning back around to turn off the water. “What other problems would there be?”

“Oh,” She pushes away from the island, and he can hear her bracelets jingle as she waves her hands in the air around her, “I don’t know. You looked a little more than worried about him, is all.” Her heels click, clack across the tile one, two, three steps, until he can feel her right behind him. “Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He shrugs, leaning forward, pressing his palms onto the edge of the counter, where little droplets of water soak into his skin. “I just - I’m angry. For him.”

“For him …” She says, airily, “ _At_ him … Same difference really.”

“What?” He furrows his brow, looks over his shoulder at her. “Why would I be angry at him? This isn’t his fault.”

She makes a face, then shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Before he can respond, Penny’s strolling back in with an armful of books. “Let’s get this started, because they’re fucking tickling each other out there, and I don’t know if I can handle actually knowing what Eliot sounds like when he giggles.” He shudders, tosses the books on the island and pulls up a stool. “The sooner we get this shit over with the fucking better.”

*

Five hours later, Margo makes a noise, and Penny and Quentin both look up from their books at her. She smirks down at the page, finger following the words. “Of course,” She murmurs, turning her smirk on the two of them. “I know how to fix them.”

Penny closes his eyes, and sighs with relief. “Oh thank god.”

“How?”

She flutters her eyelashes as she pretends to look thoughtful. “Nothing too big. One of them just has to be kissed by someone who loves them.”

“Oh. Easy,” Quentin grins, and both Penny and Margo look at him with matching slack jawed awe. “Margo can kiss him.” Their jaws snap shut, Penny face palms himself, and Margo shakes her head, closing her eyes. “What?”

“Not platonic love you dingus,” Penny mutters from behind hand. “Love love.”

“Like … true love?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale,” Penny grumbles, “But it is a lost fucking cause,” He says more to Margo.

She shakes her head, eyes locked on Quentin as she leans her elbow on the table, and rests her chin on her hand. “Not entirely,” She says, looking at Penny from the corner of her eye, “He was pretty damn mad earlier. And he didn’t have sex with anyone while we were gone - despite ample opportunity.” A slow, predatory smirk forms on her lips, as she leans ever closer to Quentin, “I think he knows, he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Quentin frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Q,” She asks, “When you saw Mike and Eliot together the other day. How did you feel?” He shrugs, and she narrows her eyes threateningly, “Come on, Q. Out with it.”

When he doesn’t respond, Penny supplies, “He didn’t think Mike was cute enough, apparently. And … his tummy was all up in twists.” He laughs, “Oh god. He was so jealous.” Penny tilts his head at Quentin, “Jesus have you never been jealous before?”

“I’ve been jealous!”

“Oh yeah? When?”

“When - when Julia got together with James!” Penny makes a face. “Get out of my head!”

Penny shakes his head. “You weren’t jealous of their relationship. You were afraid to lose her friendship. There’s a difference, dipshit.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m literally pulling this out of your head as we speak. I have a disturbingly good idea of what I’m talking about.”

Margo raises a hand between them, “Girls, less bickering,” She says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms as she examines Quentin. “What do you think jealously feels like?”

“I - I don’t know? Fear?”

She shakes her head, slow, brow furrowed, “No, sweetie. That’s fear. Jealousy is anger and nausea and confusion. It wraps up everything, and it’s all you can focus on. You can’t think about anything, for example,” She blinks at him, “but the way their fingers slid across someone else skin. The way their hair locked with someone else’s because of how close, and how intimate you know they’ve gotten. You can’t help but wonder what they’re doing every moment you’re not around - and you don’t want to be around them, but you feel like you _need_ to be. Because something in you might break if you aren’t. It’s wanting to snap someones neck for touching something that shouldn’t be theirs. It’s nasty, and it’s all consuming.”

Penny nods, “Pretty much.”

She ignores him, leaning forward, resting her arms on the top of the table, to stare directly into Quentin’s eyes. “So, tell me. What were you thinking about in that club that kept you from boinking every tom, dick and Jane around?”

Penny makes a face, rolling his eyes, as he looks back down to flip through the book in front him. But before Quentin can respond, attempt to explain to her that what he’s been feeling is just confusion, that it can’t possibly be jealousy because Eliot’s his friend, and that’s all they’ve ever seen each other as, Penny looks back up. “Holy shit.”

Margo slides her eyes over to look at him. “What?”

“What’s that spell?” He asks, jumping up and eyeing Quentin carefully. “That one that clears your head. Wipes out the confusion or whatever. Because he’s confused. It’s clouding everything else.” He makes a face as Quentin starts to push his chair back, “Relax, if I’m wrong you won’t realize anything. But if I’m right, it’ll just clear up whatever’s fucking with your thoughts.”

“Probably his depression,” Margo murmurs, “I know the spell.”

“Margo -,”

She shakes her head as she pushes out of her chair, “Sweetie, you may not be a virgin, but you have no idea what being in love feels like. And,” She shrugs as she raises her hands in front of her, beginning the motions of a spell, “You absolutely deserve to know what that feels like.”

“Or you just need to feel it long enough to make the shit show out there stop,” Penny adds. “We can wipe your memories afterward if you don’t want to be in love with him.” Margo whips her head around to glare at him. “What? He’s -,”

“Say one thing about Eliot and I will curse you and any children unfortunate to be yours. Got it?”

He rolls his eyes.

Quentin gets up as she turns her attention back on him, and he takes slow steps backwards until he’s trapped against the counter. “Margo - please don’t fuck with my mind.”

“I’m not. I’m temporarily clearing it.” She says, making a final motion.

All the air rushes out of him, almost as if it’s stealing away all the confusion. He falls back against the counter, grabbing onto the ledge, and looking up at the ceiling as everything he doesn’t understand comes coursing through him in waves of intensity. And suddenly, he’s reliving some of his moments at Brakebills, but they have something in common he hadn’t realized before.

_He’s wearing all white, practically a beacon shining in the distance. When he jumps down from his perch on the Brakebills stone and introduces himself to Quentin, Quentin’s heart skips a beat, but this time he feels something seeping in that he doesn’t understand. It’s soft and warm, and cruises through every nerve._

_“He’s not that cute.” Quentin’s heart leaps, but he assumes then that it’s just the pride that people are talking about him in pleasant terms. But now he can see himself looking up at Eliot after she says that, can feel the warmth dancing around and sinking into his cheeks._

_“No, no, no. What I’m saying, is you are not alone here.” Quentin hadn’t realized it then, but when Eliot looks at him, sincere and open, that same warmth from the first day fills him from head to toe. And for the first time, despite everything he’s been saying, he truly feels like he belongs. And that Eliot is the one person he can depend on._

_The warmth dances around the air between them, and Quentin longs to never let it go. But he pretends its the sun, and just nods gratefully before sitting across from Eliot at the table. Because, that’s all it can be. The sun, and this place that fills him up with contentment._

_“Do your lips move when you read?”_

_“About time you woke up,” Eliot whispers, sitting on the edge of the couch and patting him on the head. There’s a softness in his gaze that Quentin can’t appreciate, but the warmth is there, pulling them closer together even as the Dean orders Eliot away. Quentin makes sure Eliot never leaves his line of sight._

_Suddenly the Eliot in the mental asylum makes a lot more sense._

_All the nights they spend on the couch, just the two of them, drinking wine and joking. Quentin thinking it’s the wine that makes the curve of Eliot’s profile seem perfect, and just. Thinks it’s the wine that makes his skin warm, and Eliot’s glow. Thinks it’s the wine that makes him wonder what it’d be like to kiss him. Thinks it’s all the wine._

_But he knows now._

_All the times they curl up on that same couch, falling asleep on each other. At ease with one another, a calmness neither of them feel with anyone else. All the times they run their fingers through each others hair, and Quentin’s heart stops, and his breath hitches, when Eliot gave him his full attention. All the times Quentin tries desperately to perfect a spell just so he can show Eliot, and get that proud grin, and the bone crushing hug that both of them hang on to for seconds too long. All the times Eliot’s heart beat calms Quentin, brings him back from the edge of a panic attack._

_All the breaths and small touches that are never necessary, but somehow unavoidable._

_That warmth that dances around them like an aura every time they move. Shining and wonderful, and waiting for him to see it. But he never could before, because of the smoke shrouding his ever thought._

_He can see it now, and oh god, it’s wrapping around his heart, and he knows why he’s hidden from it._

His breath hitches, and he’s expecting to feel an uncontrollable ache where his heart is. Expects to feel nothing but pain as this realization comes crashing down on him, but instead his breath comes easy and even. He opens his eyes, chest heaving. Expects the world to have changed, but it’s the same, clearer, but the _same_.

“Holy shit.”

Margo watches him, a hesitant smile attempting to form. “What?”

“I love Eliot.”

“Alert the fucking media,” Penny mutters, sitting down. “Welcome to the present. We’ve all been here for about a year.”

Margo shoves him, the smile slowly extending. “Yeah?” She asks.

Quentin nods. “I - I think I always have.”

_“Thank fuck,”_ She mutters, flopping down into the chair and nodding to Penny. “Do us a favor and go restrain them in separate rooms so Quentin can kiss Eliot and break this whole thing.”

“Fuck that.” She shoots him a glare and he sighs, reluctantly getting up. “I’m only doing this so I don’t have to watch it anymore.”

She shrugs, calling out as he leaves the kitchen, “Nobody asked you to spend all your free time here!”

“Bite me!”

Pausing, she smirks at Quentin before replying, “Gladly.”

Penny doesn’t respond.

“How did I not know?” Quentin asks, quiet, as he makes his way across the kitchen to sit in the chair beside her. Because, he should have realized. He’d never felt as at ease with Alice. Never felt the need to protect her as strong as with Eliot. Never longed to spend time with her when he’s bored in the middle of the night. To go to her when his depression gets bad. To find comfort in her. How did he not realize?

She smiles softly, leaning forward and placing her hand overtop his. “It’s easy when you’re hiding,” She makes a face. “Everything told you you’re meant to love Alice, and you have this ridiculous belief in destiny and faith, that is absurdly enduring, but also incredibly dangerous. It’s okay to be confused. But, you need to stop letting your desire for a path to follow, keep you from living the life you actually want.”

He deflates, slumping back against his chair, “There’s always been something there. I just - I couldn’t … it was _right there_.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“I forget sometimes,” He murmurs, looking down at the table, at their hands, “That I can’t always trust my mind.”

She brings up her other hand, squeezing both around his, “Q,” She whispers, so much kinder and gentler than he’s used to, “Please don’t think that spell forced this.”

“I don’t,” He says, looking back up at her. “I don’t.”

“Good,” Her jaw clenches, “Because we’ve seen it in both of you for so long. I don’t think any of us could take you retreating. Especially him.” She smiles, eyes soft as he turns his palms up to lace his fingers through hers. “He’s so far gone on you. The two of you … You make each other happy. And El … it’s been a long time since he’s been happy. And you, too.” She adds, quickly. “I’m not trying to guilt you, here. I’m just -,”

“I don’t think I could turn my back on this if I wanted to, Margo.” Her jaw trembles a bit, and he smiles, squeezing her hands. “Come on. It’s not like you to get emotional.”

She nods. “It is. Because, he’s going to be _so_ mad at me when he wakes up.”

“Why?”

She looks at him, lips curling as she shrugs sheepishly. “I may have been the one to give him the potion.”

“ _What_?”  

“Yeah,” She nods guiltily, “It was too much. I paid a first year to brew it, but she fucked up, and yeah. It was just supposed to make you jealous and knock some sense into you.” She tilts her head, nose crinkling. “Didn’t go exactly to plan. And he will never let me live down the fact that I made it possible for him to let someone call him shmookum.”

“Jesus christ.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, “When we left, I figured it’d be back to normal but the time we got back, but I wanted to avoid the blowback. And you literally looked like you were going to throw up, so I thought, let’s drive this nail in the head and test a theory in London.”

Penny appears in the doorway before Quentin can respond. “Can we get this over with, now? Please.”

Quentin looks up at him, attempts to force down a a laugh that comes out as  more of a snort, and Margo turns around to see, as well, but she doesn’t even try to hide the quick, loud laugh that bursts out of her. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Eliot didn’t appreciate being separated from his ‘one true love’.” Penny deadpans. “He’s locked in the closet under the stairs. Creepshow is busy walking around outside looking for his,” He makes a face, cheek twitching, before saying, “ _Honeybuns_ ,” through gritted teeth.

Margo turns back around to Quentin. “You’re up.”

He nods shakily. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You fucking better.” Penny growls, “I didn’t get punched for you to pussy out.”

Quentin nods again, pushes himself up from the table, and makes his way out of the kitchen, through the living room, to stand in front of the hallway door. He grabs the doorknob tentatively, can hear some shuffling inside. He pauses. Rests his forehead against the wood of the door, gripping the doorknob tight in his fist.

When he told Alice how he felt, he hadn’t been nervous at all. It’d felt weird, but he never really felt like anything was on the line if she rejected him. But with Eliot, it’s everything. He feels that warmth dance around in his gut, familiar and strange all at once, urging him onwards, despite also begging him not to move forward, because this is it. Whatever happens after this, it’s over.

He can’t hide from his feelings. He can’t run away. Brakebills is his home - Eliot and everyone in the cottage are his family. But what if he kisses him and nothing happens? He doesn’t break the spell, and Eliot’s cursed to live eternity in love with the jackass looking through the shrubbery, while Quentin has to watch on confused and alone?

“He’s freaking out isn’t he?” He hears Margo ask Penny in the kitchen.

“He’s totally freaking out.”

He sighs, steps back from the door, and pulls it open. The sun shining from the backdoor crashing through the hall and illuminates Eliot -

Who is bound and gagged on the floor of the closet.

His eyes go wide, “Really, Penny?!” He calls out as he kneels down in front of Eliot, reaching forward to undo the gag.

Eliot glares at him, tries to bite him when the gag comes off, missing with a starling crack of his teeth. He narrows his eyes at Quentin. “What did you do to Mike? Where is he? I’ll fucking -,”

Quentin rolls his eyes and leans forward before he can talk himself out of it, pressing his lips gently against Eliot’s. For a moment, the feather light brush is all there is, but then Eliot stops moving, and everything goes quiet. He pulls away, opens his eyes, which he hadn’t even realized he’d closed, eyelashes fluttering against Eliot’s cheek bones, and then he’s looking directly into the soft  golden brown of his eyes.

“Q?” He questions, soft and hoarse all at once. “What’s -,” He seems to realize he’s tied up, because he looks down, then back up and raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning to take advantage of me, or something?” He shrugs, “Not that I’d mind.”

“Do you - do you remember?” Quentin asks, scooting back just enough to reach down and work at the knots Penny tied into the ropes. “What happened?” Eliot’s quiet for a moment as he watches Quentin work on the ropes. As he gets the last knot undone, he looks back up at, worried, “El -,”

Eliot interrupts him, rushing forward, grabbing at the sides of Quentin’s face and pulling him in for another kiss. Quentin gasps into it, heart racing as the warmth that’s been swarming around them all year suddenly dives down and engulfs them whole and unabashedly. His breath hitches, billowing out against Eliot’s lips, and his hands come up to grab at the lapels of Eliot’s vest.

He pulls away, just as Quentin loses himself in the kiss, and looks down at him through half lidded eyes. “Vaguely,” He murmurs, “I remember everything vaguely, and we’ll get to all that. But - you kissed me. And,” He shrugs, tilting his head with an almost bitter smile, “I wanted to repay the favor in case its a one time thing.”

Quentin clears his throat, letting go of Eliot’s vest to reach down for the ropes tied around his ankles. “I - I hope it’s not a one time thing,” He whispers, lets the words sit out in the air between them as he works at the knot.

“Yeah?” Eliot breathes. Quentin nods, eyebrows furrowing as the knot stays stubbornly wrapped in itself. But then Eliot’s hands are waving around between them, and the knot falls away with ease. And Eliot ducks his head, reaches up to lift Quentin’s face so they can look at each other. “Why’s that?”

“You know.”

Eliot nods, swallowing, “I have an idea,” He confirms, “But,” He waves his free hand between them, “I want to know what this is to you. Because I know what it is to me.” A closed lip smile follows the statement. “What it’s been for me for a long time now.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Eliot chuckles, “Honestly, Q, I was expecting you to graduate before anything happening even appeared as a _possibility_ to you.”

Quentin frowns, moving back in and grabbing at his vest again, “I’m sorry,” He repeats. “I’m sorry it took you getting dosed with a love potion, and a confusion clearing spell for me to realize. I - I’m sorry I’ve been fighting this. Or, avoiding this. Or whatever it is I’ve been doing. I’m sorry if I hurt you -,”

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, grabbing at his elbows, “Stop apologizing.”

“I can’t -,”

“You can, you’re just stubborn as hell.” Quentin looks up at him, but he’s smiling, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Stop apologizing.” He repeats, resting his forehead against his, “The only person who has anything to apologize for is the person who dosed me with a love potion.”

“Uh -,”

“I already know who it is,” He sighs, pulling away and looking back into Quentin’s eyes. “It’s the same meddler who has been trying to kick your ass into gear all year.” Quentin makes a face. “I can’t stay mad at her for long. But I can try for a little while.”

Quentin nods, swallowing. “And - and, us?” He asks, “What do we … I don’t.”

Eliot nods, “We’ll figure it out as we go. I suspect a lot of things will remain the same, we just get to have a few extra benefits with this deal.” He smirks, “Can we get up off this disgusting pile of dirt we call the hallway closet floor now?”

Quentin laughs, pushing himself to his feet and holding his hands out for Eliot’s. Eliot looks down at them, before grasping both hands and allowing himself to be pulled up. But once he’s standing at full attention, he’s tugging at Quentin’s hands until he crashes into Eliot’s chest, and looking up at him.

Quentin smiles, wide and bright for the first time in longer than he can remember, as Eliot leans down for another kiss.

He makes a mental note to thank Alice later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus this took forever to write. It genuinely felt like I'd never finish it, but here it is. Complete and for all your eyes to read. I hope you enjoyed it :)


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